


Oikonomia

by hikachu



Category: No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-19
Updated: 2011-07-19
Packaged: 2018-03-12 02:56:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3340997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikachu/pseuds/hikachu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nezumi can't tell Shion to shut up and stop playing house, because it was him that casually dropped Shion's new toothbrush into the same cup as his, first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oikonomia

When Nezumi opens the door to the underground room, Shion is the first thing he sees.

There are days when Nezumi won't pick him up from Inukashi's place because he's busy with his own job or feeling particularly vulnerable. On those days, he knows he'll come home to a warm meal and, sometimes, Shion's voice as he reads to the mice. Other times – definitely not as often – Shion will be asleep, napping on the couch with the book still open, resting on his lap. When that happens, Nezumi usually lets him sleep, but only because he enjoys teasing Shion and make fun of his tired, lost look as he wakes up.

Sometimes, he finds Shion drying his hair with a towel after a hot bath, and he can't help patting his head or stroking his hair, even though Nezumi knows, by now, that that won't even make him blush a little.

And every day, no matter what he's doing or if he's just woken up, Shion will look up at him and, with a smile, he will say: welcome back.

It's the greeting, Nezumi realizes, that turns the room into something more than a place to return to, a place that doesn't mean anything at all except bed and food. He also realizes that greetings, words, are just breath and sound; things that would mean nothing and change nothing, if he so decided. And he decides to ignore them, because that's all he can do. Nezumi can't tell Shion to shut up and stop playing house, because it was him that casually dropped Shion's new toothbrush into the same cup as his, first; it was him that put Shon's few belongings and clothes next to his own inside his – now their – small closet. It was Nezumi that let Shion sleep in his bed even after the fever had gone down and he'd recovered: days, weeks, months have gone by since then, and they still sleep together in that bed.

He is afraid that if he says anything, Shion will notice (or perhaps he already has) all these useless things that they've come to share between them; he will know that they're both playing the same game and he will point it out, and Nezumi, who's already starting to forget what life was like without Shion, can't afford that.

He couldn't take it.

"Welcome back," Shion says, today too. He's cheerful but in a quiet, warm way. It suits him, his character.

"What's for dinner tonight?" today too, Nezumi ignores the greeting. He hasn't replied in more than a week.

He wants to believe that he's safe and that he can use this small victory to put some distance between them, to go back to the person he used to be in a time that nowadays feels like centuries ago, but when Shion lowers his head and doesn't answer, Nezumi knows there is something wrong.

A thought he refuses to put into words is slowly creeping into his mind: maybe it didn't work, it wasn't enough. It has the vague taste of shame and fear.

It becomes reality when Shion looks at him again and repeats: "Welcome back."

"Shion," it's a warning. But Shion's smile doesn't falter: this is the strength Nezumi denies, almost as a rule, with mirthless laughs and humiliating words.

He pours, serenely, hot soup into two bowls and, unlike every other night he's made dinner, he doesn't hand Nezumi his portion: Shion's waiting. He won't give up. This is his strength.

Tiredly, Nezumi plops onto the couch; he can't see himself winning.

"Hey Shion, I said—" he tries again because he's stubborn. Because he can't think of anything else.

"I said, welcome back, Nezumi."

There is such warmth in those words. As much warmth as unrelenting, ice-cold determination. Nezumi sighs.

"I'm home."

He can't understand himself anymore.

Shion's eyes lit up. He chuckles and hands him his bowl. It's the same dish as ever, but Nezumi doesn't think dinner has ever smelled this nice.


End file.
